“We shall know in a few more minutes,” he said.  “I can see the river now.”

“Go on,” said Alton hoarsely.  “Oh, get on.”

Five minutes had scarcely passed when they stopped again, and the men stared at each other in silence as a thudding sound came up to them through the rain.  It was just distinguishable, and they might be mistaken, but a full minute went by before one of them glanced at Alton.  He stood very still, with one knee bent a trifle, leaning against a pine until the sound grew plainer and was followed by a voice.

“We’re too late, but we’ll go down and see it out,” he said.

Ten minutes later they plodded into the glare of a fire, and stopped, worn-out and dripping in front of a rude bark shelter.  A few men were scattered about it eating their evening meal, and for a moment or two they stared at the newcomers silently, until Alton stepped forward and stood where all could see him, hatless and tattered, with a clotted bandage about his head.

“What are you doing on my claim?” he said.

A big man rose up slowly with an axe in his hand, and pointed to a board with rough letters cut in it nailed to a tree.

“It may have been yours one time.  It’s ours now,” he said.  “There’s no getting over the laws of this country.”

Seaforth expected an outbreak, and heard a growl from his comrades, who commenced to close in behind him, but Alton only closed one hand a little.

“Where’s the man who brought you here?” he said.

“Gone out,” said the other, “to record the claim.  Now we don’t want any unpleasantness, but the mine is ours, and there are enough of us to keep it, you see.  Come in and have some supper, and take it reasonably.”

Alton looked at him for a space out of half-closed eyes, and the man appeared to grow uneasy.

“You condemned jumper!  These are honest men,” he said, pointing to those who followed him.  “We’ll go back and camp up yonder, boys.”

It was close on midnight when Seaforth crept up to Alton, who lay huddled against a cedar in the smoke of the fire.  His face showed drawn and puckered in the flickering light.

“Don’t take it too hard, Harry,” he said.

Alton smothered a groan.  “I’m feeling very mean tonight,” he said.  “Lord, what a mess I’ve made of everything.  Every ranch in Somasco mortgaged to the last rod, the new mill not finished, roads half made, and not another dollar to be had in the city.  And there’s not a man or woman who believed in me but I’ve dragged them down.”

“I think,” said Seaforth, “they believe in you still.  You did all that any man could have done, Harry.”

“No,” said Alton.  “I stayed down in Vancouver when I should have been here.  That can never be quite wiped out—­but what could I do?”

Seaforth laid his hand on his comrade’s shoulder.  “Don’t worry too much about what is done with, but look forward.  You’ll find your friends behind you yet.”